Baja (Fallen Ravens MC #3)

24. Baja

24

BAJA

The two men who dragged Uncle Jax in hoist me off the hook and let my exhausted body slump to the cold concrete, each taking advantage of the situation and kicking me.

“Who’s gonna save you now, asshole?” One of them spews out the words before spitting at me.

I shoot a fierce glare up at them. “I don’t need savin’, but you damn well will.” I snarl, struggling to keep the pain coursing through my broken body from consuming me.

His jaw twitches, but he remains silent. Instead, he lifts his chin, and he and his friend exit the room.

A few feet away, Jax is still on his knees, his ass resting back on his heels and arms bound behind his back. “Hang in there, kid,” he mutters, his face twisted in helpless fury. “I’ll find a way to get us out of this.”

I don’t answer, but I meet his eyes. All I can think about is the fact he is my father. “Any suggestions on how you plan to do that?” I rasp, my voice barely audible over the constant ringing in my ears. I pull myself toward the wall and get myself upright.

Jax gives a slight nod, his gaze shifting to the table beside me, where I spot the glint of a knife blade. No fucking way.

“Think you can snatch it before anyone comes back?” Uncle Jax whispers.

I glance back at the table, not knowing if my body will move quickly enough, but I’m sure as hell going to try. I press my back against the wall and fight through the agony as I pull my knees toward my chest, anchor my feet, and push up. I clench my jaw so tightly that I think it might crack under the pressure. Once on my feet, I use the wall to keep me steady and move to the table. The rope tears at my wrists, still bound behind my back, as I reach for the knife. Though my fingers are numb, and my wrists are raw and bloody, I finally get it in my grasp. The knife’s handle feels like salvation in my hand, and I work fast, cutting through the rope and freeing myself.

A surge of adrenaline courses through my veins, giving my body an energy source to work off, and I trudge across the room toward Jax. I kneel behind him, cutting through the rope wrapped tightly around his wrists, keeping an ear out for the sound of boots slapping against concrete.

Once freed, he gets to his feet, shuffles over to the corner, and lifts a three-foot piece of pipe off the floor. “These won’t get us far. We need guns.”

The sound of someone outside the room gains our attention. I nod, my heart beating like a war drum, and we move silently toward the door. Uncle Jax and I exchange glances and ready ourselves.

The first man steps inside the room. He doesn’t see me coming. I clamp a hand over his mouth and drive the knife into his throat, hot blood spilling over my fingers. My uncle quickly takes care of the second man with a brutal swing of the pipe, caving the bastard’s skull in with a sickening crunch.

Without uttering a word, we make quick work of stripping their bodies of weapons.

I look at my uncle. “You ready?” My voice is low but steady.

He nods, swallowing hard. “Let’s end this.”

I hurry down the dim, musty corridor toward the faint light at the end. Hanging back, I scan the room, count heads, look at my uncle, and hold up five fingers. There could be more, but we don’t have time to find out. This is our only chance, and we’re taking it. The moment we burst into the vast open space, the place erupts into chaos as we open fire. Men scramble for cover as I move through the room, taking out anyone in my way. We don’t let up until every man is dead, all except Havoc, who is nowhere in sight. I check my weapon, only to find I’m out of ammo.

Havoc’s manic laugh echoes through the room. I turn toward his voice to find him emerging from the shadows. “You are resourceful.” He walks toward us, his weapon aimed.

“I’m out of bullets,” Uncle Jax whispers.

Fuck . We have no choice but to play our cards and hope Havoc doesn’t call our bluff. My finger tightens on the trigger. “It’s two against one,” I say, my voice low and dangerous, the tension crackling between us.

Havoc’s eyes dart to my uncle, then back at me. “You should have mentioned your little dilemma a little quieter, old man,” he says, keeping his gun and gaze trained on me. “Since one of you is out of bullets, we find ourselves in an old-fashioned stand-off.” Havoc snickers, staring hard at me before adding, “I’m callin’ your bluff, Raven. I’m willing to bet, oh, let’s say, both your lives, that you’re out of bullets as well.”

“You willin’ to die finding out, motherfucker.” I keep my tone void of emotion.

He grins, and I know I’m screwed. “You lose,” he says, and I brace for an inevitable impact that never comes. Instead, I find myself locked in a gaze with my uncle’s face—his features twisted in pain.

The idiot, the stupid son-of-a-bitch, took the bullet meant for me.

Something snaps inside me.

I don’t think.

I move.

Side-stepping and lunging at Havoc, tackling him to the ground. His gun goes off, but the shot misses. We grapple for control. The bastard has an advantage over me, his strength outweighing mine, but pure uncontrollable rage gives me the extra edge I need. I rip the weapon from his hand and slam the back of the pistol into his face, over and over, until his resistance fades.

Breathing hard, I stand and aim the gun at his head.

“Do it.” He snarls, blood dripping from his busted mouth. “You can kill me, but this doesn’t end with me. You and your club are dead.”

I don’t hesitate to give the motherfucker what he’s asking for and pull the trigger.

The room falls silent except for the ragged sounds of my breathing. I turn and find my uncle on the floor and drop to my knees beside him. “What the fuck were you thinking?” I shrug off my cut, pressing firmly against his blood-soaked chest.

He looks at me, his face pale and his breathing shallow. “Nash, I need to tell you somethin’ before death takes me.” He coughs, spitting blood.

“You ain’t fuckin’ dying on me, old man. You hear me?”

He gasps for air, each breath a battle as warm blood continues seeping from the wound in his chest. With every desperate cough, more crimson bubbles up his throat, filling his mouth. His hand fumbles until it covers mine. “I should’ve told you… years ago.”

“I know.” My throat tightens, already knowing what he wants to confess. “Now shut up and save your strength.”

His eyes remain on me, filled with regret. “Can you forgive me?”

I swallow the lump of emotion in my throat and nod, my voice breaking, “I forgive you, old man. But you gotta hang on. You don’t get to say goodbye.”

A faint smile touches his lips. “You’re a good man, Nash. Better than I ever was.” His breathing becomes more irregular. “Take care of Lily.” He gets a far-off look in his eyes. “I love ya, kid.” His hand slackens, slipping off mine as one final breath leaves his body, causing me to release a raw, guttural cry at the top of my lungs.

I’m not sure how much time passes, but the roar of engines finally rips me from my grief-stricken stupor. I grab the gun I used to kill Havoc and make my stand. My brothers burst into the building, finding me kneeling by Jax’s body, my hands covered in his blood, ready for battle. I lose my grip on the weapon, letting it clatter on the concrete floor, feeling every bit of energy I’ve been grasping onto leaving my body. I try standing, but my legs give out.

“Let’s go, brother.” Mystic helps me stand. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m not leavin’ my father.” I give him the title he deserves as I look down on him. The pain in my chest is damn near unbearable, and it has nothing to do with my physical injuries.

Salem and Harlem stand close by, their presence anchoring. “Laredo’s on his way with the ride,” he says firmly, eyes gleaming with resolve. “None of us are going anywhere. Our family stays together, every single one of us, including Jax,” he declares, his voice filled with unwavering conviction.